


Nobody Loves A Clown

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Clowns, Crack, Gen, Pie fixes everything, Sam Winchester Has a Fear of Clowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 18:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: dean gets turned into a clown by a witchlike, it's not makeup and a wig, it doesn't come offand poor sam has to, like, try to even be in the same room with him to break the cursehilarity ensues





	Nobody Loves A Clown

**Author's Note:**

> I stuck it in the summary up there ^^, but that's word for word, copy/pasted, the prompt [@rachelhaimowitz](rachelhaimowitz.tumblr.com) sent me last night asking if I could write a short lil bit of fluffy hilarity, so I gave it the ol' mittens try and this is the result. I hope it makes everyone laugh. :)

The problem with hunting a monster hiding out in a traveling circus is the  _ traveling _ . Cas had been tracking strange omens around the midwest for weeks, until Jack finally put it together a few days after the circus had moved on from Hastings. The thing had been right in their backyard, but by the time they’d caught wind of it, the whole troupe had packed it up and moved on. It took them another week to pick up the trail several hundred miles farther west. As soon as Jack pinned them down in Crook, Colorado--and after Dean finished rolling his eyes at that detail--Sam and Dean set out to catch up to the Big Top before they broke camp and moved on again, and hopefully before leaving any more mummified circus patrons in their wake.

Cas and Jack had stayed behind, holding down the fort at the bunker and waiting for an expected call for assistance from Jody on another case. Sam assured Dean that they could handle one little monster on their own. Dean had been skeptical, considering their last case involving a circus, but Sam insisted he was ready with a bronze knife if it was another rakshasa, and then muttered something about being more resentful than afraid of clowns since the incident with the glitterbombing at Plucky’s. Dean caught his comment and had run out of the library cackling as Sam chucked a notebook at his head.

The case had turned out to be an easy one. It hadn’t been a monster at all, just a fortune-telling witch whose eternal youth spell required the occasional top off with the drained life force of some of her unsuspecting customers. She tried to cast her life-draining spell on Dean, but she hadn’t expected Sam to sneak up behind her before she finished. Turns out bronze daggers work pretty well on run of the mill witches, too. Sam followed it up with a witch killing bullet just to be sure, as Dean fell to his knees after being released from a sparkly cloud of the witch’s magic.

“You okay?” Sam asked, helping Dean to his feet.

Dean wobbled a bit, shaking his head to clear away the static left by the incomplete spell. He looked down at his own hands and then pawed at his face. Everything felt normal. “I’m not turning into Imhotep, so I think I’ll be fine.” Dean’s stomach growled. “I’ll be better after we get some food.”

It was near midnight by the time they left the field where the circus lights still glittered in the rear view mirror. After the five hour drive to Colorado, sneaking around the circus all day, and finally nailing down their witch, neither of them could bear another five hour drive home. Dean called Cas to let him know they’d survived, and that they’d be home tomorrow, while Sam checked them into the nearest, cheapest motel.

Dean was unusually tired. He chalked it up to a belly full of funnel cake and cheap beer and the long day in the sun, but he was on the verge of falling asleep on his feet by the time Sam unlocked the door to their room. He shuffled inside, dropped his bag, and collapsed face-down on the closest bed while Sam rolled his eyes and announced he was taking a shower.

“You smell like peanuts and elephants, Dean,” Sam scolded. “You’re showering before we get in the car to go home tomorrow.”

Dean grunted out a noncommittal answer and promptly passed out.

Sam finished his shower, relieved to be in clothes that weren’t dusty and didn’t smell like a mix of carnival food and stables, and switched off the bathroom light. When he opened the door into the room, he heard a strange sound. It wasn’t Dean’s typical soft snore, but more of a whistling noise. He rubbed at his hair with a towel, prepared to wind it up and snap Dean with it if he was making that noise just to be irritating. Sam turned the corner into the room and let the towel fall from his face, disapproving frown firmly in place.

And then he shrieked at what he found there.

He’d only been in the bathroom for about fifteen minutes, but in that short time his brother had disappeared and been replaced by a softly whistling unconscious clown, from the top of the tiny hat perched atop his fluffy green hair all the way down to the tips of his comically humongous shoes.

Sam took a deep breath and screeched again as the clown sat up and screeched back at him, the flower pinned to his lapel shooting a stream of water as if it was some sort of clown reflex. Then something even more horrific happened…  _ the clown talked to him _ .

“Sammy, what the fuck are you screaming for?”

“Clown!” Sam choked out, backing away slowly and pointing an accusing finger at the clown, which he was beginning to realize was his brother now that he got a closer look through the thick frowny makeup on Dean’s face. “C-clown!”

“I knew taking you to the circus was a bad fucking idea, Sam,” Dean the clown replied.

“Dean… this isn’t funny. I thought you were sleeping. Not…  _ sleep clowning _ ..”

“The hell are you on? I  _ was _ sleeping until you ran in here screaming bloody murder!”

“Then explain why you’re…  _ clown _ …” Sam forced out in a pained whisper.

“Are you hallucinating or something? Did you eat too much cotton candy?” Dean finally stood up from the bed and Sam screamed again when Dean’s shoes hit the floor with a loud squeak reminiscent of those stupid rubber chicken videos Jack had cackled over a few weeks ago.

Dean froze at the sound, and then ever so slowly, he rocked up onto his toes and then back to his heels, his shoes emitting another long squeak as he did. He looked down slowly, the horror of his situation dawning on him as he took in the puffy white and red polka-dotted suit and huge floppy red shoes on his feet.

“What the fuck? Where’s my good hiking boots?” Dean bounced on his heels a few times, his shoes responding with the SQUEEKASQUEEKASQUEEKA he’d been expecting with resignation. Jack had been right though. That video of the horse with the rubber chicken still made him laugh every time he thought about it, and he couldn’t help laughing again now.

He bounced over toward the mirror to get a look at himself, taking about ten more steps than was strictly necessary just to keep the squeaking going.

Sam backed away so quickly he tripped over a chair and continued shuffling away on all fours while keeping a wary and horrified eye on Dean. Dean took advantage of Sam’s panic by giving him a little squirt from his flower and then turning to see just how thoroughly he’d been clowned. He took in the complete makeup job, from the fake tears painted on his cheeks and his huge red rubber nose and artificial frown right down to the partial bald wig with a ring of long, fluffy green hair surrounding his little red hat.

“Take it off, Dean. Just, please, take it off already.”

Dean looked over at Sam and exaggerated his painted-on frown as much as he could and then laughed at Sam’s horrified flinch. “Fine, okay. I guess this was the dumb spell that witch tried to hit me with. Waking up as a clown’s a lot better than waking up all shriveled up and dead.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sam replied, his back hitting the wall as he gave Dean the widest possible berth to squeak his way into the bathroom to wash off the makeup.

Dean couldn’t resist one more squeaky soft shoe routine on his way, and laughed at himself--and a little bit at Sam--in the mirror while he waited for the sink tap to warm up. He reached up to pull off the wig first, but nothing happened. He tugged at the little hat, but it was fused to his head, and his panic rose as he yanked at the green hair that wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pulled. He yanked at the red rubber nose and yelped in pain.

“Sam?” he called out, his voice rising in panic. “Sammy? It’s not coming off. It’s not coming off!”

Dean picked up the bar of soap and a washcloth and began scrubbing frantically at his face, which remained stubbornly clownish. “SAMMY! It was funny for a minute, but I do  _ not _ want to spend the rest of my life with this face, Sammy!”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam replied, still hiding out at the other side of the small room. “I am not spending the night locked in a room with a fucking clown, even if it’s you. That is just not happening.”

“Then you gotta help me get this shit off!” Dean replied.

Sam sat quietly for a moment, getting his heart rate under control and running through increasingly desperate ideas. “You wanna try makeup remover?”

“Do you have makeup remover, Sam?” Dean asked, poking out of the bathroom to shoot Sam an incredulous look, drawing a startled  _ eep _ from Sam before he shook his head and frowned.

“You could just put a bag over your head,” Sam suggested. “Maybe you’ll be back to normal by morning.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like a foolproof plan. I suffocate all night on the off chance this spell will just get better by itself. Yeah, no thanks. We gotta fix this. Call Cas.”

At least he had something positive to focus on now. Sam gathered his wits, scooted across the room  and pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jacket. It helped that he couldn’t see Dean from where he was now cowering behind the bed.

Cas answered, but he didn’t have any solutions for them. He and Jack were ready to drive all night to reach them-- seeing as Sam refused to ride all the way back to the bunker with Dean in this state, and Dean refused to ride the whole way home locked in the trunk-- when Jack offered up a simple suggestion.

“It could work,” Sam said after hanging up and promising to call back if it didn’t.

Dean was growing frownier by the minute. He hated everything about this plan. But he hated his his receding green hairline even more, and he was really beginning to hate the squeaky shoes. With a beleaguered sigh he slumped down on the toilet seat while Sam raced from the room in search of what they needed. It took longer than Dean had expected, but Sam eventually returned with two dozen pies and an old-fashioned seltzer bottle.

“You have no idea how hard it was to find this,” Sam said, holding up the bottle while Dean looked forlornly at the tower of pie. “So where do you wanna do this? Shower? Outside?”

It was the middle of the night at a nearly deserted motel in the middle of nowhere, so Dean sucked it up and decided if they were gonna make a mess, it was probably better if they didn’t have to clean it up afterward. Sam let him lead the way to the underbrush out behind the motel’s dumpster.

“This is the stupidest idea in the history of stupid ideas,” Dean muttered as he held out his arms, taking one last look at the gorgeous coconut cream pie Sam hefted. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dean. I know you didn’t do this on purpose,” Sam replied, already feeling better about this entire ordeal.

“I’m not apologizing to you, Sam. I’m apologizing to the pie.”

With that, Sam flung the pie at Dean’s face.

“Oh my god, that’s a good pie,” Dean said through the thick layer of custard and whipped cream on his face.

He lifted a hand to scoop some more of it into his mouth while Sam hurled the second pie, this one lemon meringue. It hit him on the chest, so Dean ran a finger through the mess and tried a taste of that one, as well, while Sam continued hurling the rest of the pies.

“This is actually pretty cathartic,” Sam said after the fifth pie, as chocolate cream dripped down over Dean’s shoulders.

“Yeah, but is it working?”

“Kinda hard to tell through all the pie,” Sam replied. “Better keep going, just in case.”

Dean’s shoes were already beginning to shrink, though. And they weren’t squeaking anymore. Sam had stolen a full two dozen pies from a local bakery, though, and he was absolutely going to get his money’s worth out of them. He flung pie after pie, watching Dean gradually transform from clownish monstrosity back into himself. When the pies were gone, and Dean was nearly in tears from the ordeal, Sam hit him in the face with a long spray from the seltzer bottle for good measure. When Dean was soaked through and dripping, Sam stood back to admire his handiwork.

“Am I me again?” Dean asked, blinking dripping custard out of his eyes and groping at his face and hair. “I feel like me again.”

“You’re you again,” Sam replied. “I can’t believe that actually worked.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or pissed off,” Dean said. “I think I just wanna go home and sleep in my own bed. And hopefully not have nightmares about pie.”

“Sure, Dean. Just as soon as you shower.”

Dean scraped up a handful of custardy pie filling from the front of his shirt and flung it at Sam’s hair. “Sure thing, Sam. I hear eggs are a good deep conditioner.”

He strolled back to their room, blessedly not squeaking, while Sam stood there aghast and finally able to wrap his head around this nightmare of a hunt.

“I think I’m over the clown thing now,” he yelled, and Dean just laughed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> as usual, you can find me at [mittensmorgul](mittensmorgul.tumblr.com) over on the tumbls. For a direct link to the post for this fic, please click [here](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/178894385760/nobody-loves-a-clown).


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